by Lola StVil
He still doesn’t get it. He doesn’t see that sending me away and making it clear I wasn’t to come back until I’d served my full time in the military did destroy my life. It took me away from Grey.
“You sent me away from her,” I shout.
“Your mom?” he says, looking confused.
“No, you idiot. Grey,” I snap.
“Don’t you dare sit there and call me an idiot in my own house,” he says. “And as for Grey, don’t tell me that’s what this is about? You were just kids. It wasn’t like it was anything serious.”
It hits me then that my father really didn’t know me at all. He couldn’t see what had been in front of him all those years ago. He thought Grey and I were just a quick high school fling. Just puppy love, and we would move on. I don’t have the energy to argue with him, to try to make him understand that she’s the only one I’ll ever want. What’s the point? Instead, I just sigh and shake my head.
“Whatever,” I say. “Look, Mom wants us to get along, and I get it. She doesn’t want every day to be awkward. So why don’t we just agree to be civil to each other for her sake until I move out?”
“Suits me,” my father replies. “How long are you planning on staying?”
Wow, he really can’t wait to get rid of me. I stand up and head for the door.
“I’ll be gone before you know it,” I say.
As I leave the room, the sound of the TV envelops me. He turned it back on. I kind of wanted him to call me back, to tell me I could stay as long as I like, to catch up on lost time. I should have known better. He couldn’t wait to get rid of me at the first sign of trouble when I was a kid, and clearly, he can’t wait to get rid of me now either.
I go upstairs and into my room. When my mom knocks on the door half an hour later, I pretend I’m sleeping. I can’t face her. I can’t tell her how it went with my father, but more than that, I can’t face her asking how it went with Grey. She’ll ask me tomorrow, and I’ll tell her, but right now, I just need to get my own head around the situation.
I have to hurry up and fix things with Grey so I can get out of this place before we all go crazy. It’s going to take some time to convince her to come to the city with me, but maybe, just maybe, I can do it.
***
I purposely wait until I hear my father leave for work before I go downstairs. My mom sits at the kitchen table, and I pour myself a coffee and join her.
“Aren’t you having any breakfast?” she asks me.
I point at my cup and grin.
“The breakfast of champions, Mom.” I laugh.
She shakes her head and smiles. The smile fades and she gets more serious.
“I heard you saying to your dad you wouldn’t be sticking around for long. I know he has a funny way of showing it sometimes, but he does love you, Holden, and I know he wants you to stay. He’s just too damn stubborn to admit it.”
I shrug. “It’s not about him. I wasn’t exactly expecting a welcome home party.”
“So what is it then? It didn’t go well with Grey I take it?”
I shake my head and tell her what happened at the diner. She winces slightly.
“It sounds awful,” she says. “But if you’re serious about wanting to show her you’re for real, then you can’t just give up on her. You have to make her fall in love with you all over again.”
“That was pretty much my thoughts exactly. I’m no quitter. But then I got to thinking, and if she’s really over me, I don’t want to push her too hard and have her think I turned into some creepy stalker.”
My mom laughs.
“You’re hardly standing outside her apartment with a camera, Son. Use your brain. Find a way to run into her and ask her out on a real date.”
“I wish it was that easy. I don’t even know where she goes when she’s not at the diner, and in the diner, it’s too easy for her to just keep herself busy and ignore me.”
My mom grins, and I frown.
“What about that statement could possibly make you look happy?” I ask.
“Well as it turns out, I know just the place. There’s a pie-eating contest in the town hall at lunchtime, and …”
“A pie-eating contest? God, could this town get any lamer?” I say.
“Maybe. But if you let me finish this time, then maybe you won’t think it’s so lame after all. The diner is supplying the pies. Grey will be there. She won’t be anywhere near as busy as she is in the diner, and she can’t exactly leave, so you’ll have a fair chance of talking to her there. We should go.”
“I don’t know, Mom. It hardly sounds like great entertainment, and if Grey’s even half working, she’s not going to want me hanging around her.”
“Think back to when you two were together. The stupid things you two used to do that made you both laugh. Pretty much every community event here is pointless, but you and Grey never let that stop you.”
“True,” I admit. “We’d mostly hang back, making fun of everyone else. Grey used to do this commentary thing where she would report live on the event, but with the most sarcastic accents.”
I smile at the memory. It’s worth a shot.
“Looks like you just bagged yourself a date to the pie-eating contest.” I smile.
***
“Isn’t that Cannon?” Mom says, nudging me and nodding in the direction of a man my age.
I break into a grin and nod. “Yeah, it is. He hasn’t changed a bit.”
Cannon turns around and spots me. He gives me a wave and hurries over.
“I’ll let you two catch up,” my mom says. “I’ll see you inside.”
“I heard you were back in town,” Cannon says as he reaches me and we hug.
“What can I say? I can’t stay away. Lookin’ good,” I tell him.
“You mean great.” Cannon grins dramatically, popping his hip. “And I feel it too. I just came from work, and it feels good to be finished so early.”
“What do you do?” I ask.
“I’m a photographer,” Cannon replies. “Family portraits, baby pictures, animal pictures, weddings, you name it, I photograph it.”
I can’t help but get caught up in his enthusiasm. It feels like no longer than a day has passed since Cannon and I last spoke.
“So, do you make money from that or do you have to sell your body or something to actually make money?” I tease him.
It’s been our standard joke since Cannon announced his intention to be a photographer when we were fifteen.
“Well, you know, at first I had two other jobs just to make ends meet. But not since I started my side business.”
He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively as he says it. I’m afraid to ask what exactly he means by that. He must see my discomfort written all over my face because he laughs and slaps me on the shoulder.
“You’ve got a dirty mind, Holden.” He laughs. “It’s not what you’re thinking. And no, it’s not illegal. I take what I like to call personal photographs. Just about every stuffy housewife in town has had some taken, most of them more than once. When I say personal, I mean they leave nottttttthing to the imagination. It’s apparently the best way to spice up your sex life, or so my customers have told me, and what better way to fight off jealousy than having the local gay take the photo. Honestly, it’s like the worst kept secret in town. No one talks about it openly, but once the wine is flowing, those women seriously dish it.”
I raise an eyebrow. Surely there can’t be enough money in that to make a full-time living. Cannon laughs again.
“Judge all you want, but I’m on target to make a six-figure salary for the fourth year in a row.”
I raise an eyebrow again, this time for a different reason.
“Okay, I stand corrected.” I laugh.
A thought occurs to me, one that makes me shudder.
“When you say every housewife in town…?”
“My lips are sealed, Holden. You will never know if your mom has been a client of mine or not.” He laughs.
“So what are you going to do with yourself now you’re out of the military?” Cannon asks.
“I’m trained and licensed as a surgeon, and I have a job lined up. A real job that apparently makes less money than a small-town photographer.” I laugh.
“What can I say, either you’ve got it, or you don’t,” Cannon says with an exaggerated haughty tone.
“So is there a Mr. Cannon?” I ask. “With all that money, you must have a queue of potential suitors lined up.”
“That’s just it though, isn’t it? I mean, I get my fair share of dates, but I’m always left wondering if it’s me they want or if they’re just after a raunchy photo shoot. Seriously, I don’t think I’m one of those people who is cut out to find a soul mate and live happily ever after. Or maybe I’m just picky.”
“Oh, you’re definitely picky.” I laugh.
“Well, if you want to find Mr. Right, it’s no good settling for Mr. Almost Right, is it?” He laughs.
“No,” I agree, suddenly serious as my mind goes back to Grey.
Cannon follows my train of thought.
“She’ll come around. But you hurt her bad, Holden. It’ll take time,” he says.
I know I hurt her. I know I did. I just need to be able to explain it to her. How I had a choice of the military or juvie, so either way I had to leave. I just wish I’d summoned up the courage to call her the next day and explain it to her then.
CHAPTER SIX
GREY
I’m starting to regret volunteering for this. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I have some community spirit and I would have happily donated the pies like I have every year, but I’m starting to wish I’d taken Cassie up on her offer to run the show like I have every year. Instead, I insisted she should come to the contest and not have to worry about work, so there’s just me here. It’s hot and sweaty, and as the crowd begins to gather, it’s just a waiting game really.
I’m sitting at the edge of the stage where the contest will take place, and I’m amusing myself by people watching. Occasionally, one of my friends will see me and head over and chat for a few minutes, which helps pass the time, so it isn’t all bad.
There’s old Mrs. Hillary, an elderly woman who is skin and bones, with dirty skin and matted hair. I make my way over to her and hand her a sandwich. I always make sure I have a sandwich and a drink for her. She’s not homeless, but her family doesn’t notice her wandering around town until all hours of the night nor do we think they really care. So I like to make sure she is taken care of. Some of the neighbors called social services once, but nothing came of it.
“Hello, Mrs. Hillary.”
“Oh, hello dear,” she says in her raspy voice.
“I brought you this sandwich from the diner and a bottle of our fresh-brewed sweet tea.”
“Oh you’re so sweet, dear; thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Come see me if you want dessert, okay?”
“I don’t need dessert, sweetie. I am in the contest, remember?”
“Oh, right. Good luck.” I smile.
She won the contest three years running in the early sixties. There’s Knox, the newly appointed sheriff, weaving through the crowd, greeting people and laughing. He spots me and gives me a wave, which I return.
I am relieved to see Cannon walk in. Finally, someone to talk to and pass the time with before the contest starts. My relief turns to anger when I see who follows him in. Fucking Holden. My body responds to him, a wave of excitement and need rushing over me. As much as I want to be able to turn that part of me off, I can’t quite do it. Still, the stronger feeling in me right now, as I watch him walk confidently through the crowd, is anger. Why can’t he leave me alone?
He’s not here for you. He’s just here to enjoy the show. Yeah right. Because a local pie-eating contest in a town he hasn’t given a fuck about for seven years is his idea of entertainment all of a sudden.
If I thought I regretted agreeing to this before, I know I do now. It’s not like I can walk away this time. Already people are nudging each other and nodding in my direction. It’s like being a Z list celebrity who has said something stupid on Twitter. Talk about car crash entertainment.
I can’t help but watch Holden; my eyes are drawn to him against my will. He really does look good, damn good. He’s always been tall, and where he used to be kind of gangly, now he’s all filled out. His body looks firm, like it would be the perfect texture to squeeze and the perfect amount of hard and soft to lean into.
Holden has stopped moving, and I realize he’s with Julie, his mom. I relax a little. He’s not here for me; he’s here to spend time with his mom, who never misses this. I guess my ego got away from me a little bit there. I’m relieved that he’ll be leaving me alone and disappointed that he’s not here for me.
God, Grey, could you be any more complicated?
I should be glad. I didn’t want him disrupting my life. I don’t need him in it. I wanted him to stay away, and now he is. So why am I just as pissed that he’s here and not making a beeline for me as I was when I saw him enter and thought he would be coming to try and talk to me?
“He’s looking pretty damn fine, right?” a voice says from beside me, pulling me out of my own head.
I turn to Cannon and shrug.
“I guess he looks alright,” I say.
“You guess? Alright? Oh, come on, Grey. I know you’re all set to hate him, but you have eyes, don’t you?” Cannon says.
“Fine. He looks good,” I admit.
Cannon grins, and I grudgingly join him.
“That’s more like it. You know he’s still massively hung up on you, right? I honestly think you’re the only reason he came back.”
I shrug, hoping I look a lot more casual than I feel. Is that really true? Did he finally come back for me? I don’t care. It’s too late. Six years and three hundred and sixty-four days too late to be exact.
“It doesn’t matter. I have a date tonight,” I say.
Cannon’s eyes fly open wide, and his jaw drops. I roll my eyes.
“Enough with the drama queen reaction. It’s enough to give a girl a complex.” I laugh.
He waves away my complaint.
“Complex my ass. Every eligible and not-so-eligible bachelor in Wonder has made a play for you over the years, and you’ve never dated once since Holden left. So who is it then? And why is he so special? Is his dick made out of chocolate or something?”
“Cannon,” I exclaim, shocked. “Do you have to be so crude?”
“No. It’s a choice.” He grins. “Now stop avoiding the question. Who is he?”
“That’s none of your damn business,” I say.
His name is Stuart, and as much as I tell myself this is what I want, I’m dreading it. It’s not because of Stuart. He’s actually quite cute, and he’s funny, and I think we’ll get along just fine. But he’s not Holden. There. I said it. He’s not goddamn Holden Riley.
Cannon is looking at me, waiting for the name he knows I won’t be able to resist spilling.
“His name is Stuart Lock,” I sigh.
“Stuart Lock, recent divorcé, had his heart broken when his childhood sweetheart went off to Thailand to find herself and found a new boyfriend instead,” Cannon says.
“Alright, it’s not a quiz show.” I laugh.
“Just in case, for a bonus point, why does Grey Thomas suddenly want to date a hot mess with more baggage than LAX? Answers on a postcard please.”
I shake my head, but he’s far from done.
“Well, Cannon,” he says in a fake cheery quiz show voice, “could it be because Grey wants to make Holden jealous and has purposely chosen someone who she knows isn’t ready for anything more serious than a quick pint in the local bar?”
“I don’t want to make him jealous,” I say.
“Oh, yeah right,” Cannon says.
“Really, I don’t,” I say.
<
br /> Cannon gets serious when he hears the truth in my voice. I am looking at Holden again as I finish up my sentence.
“I just want him to know there was life after him. I don’t want him to think I have spent the last seven years pining for him like some pathetic schoolgirl.”
Before Cannon can respond, Fay Barnes, the mayor’s wife, gets up onto the stage. She stands in front of the short row of tables and chairs and smiles out at the crowd, who begin to quiet down when they notice her up there. This is my cue to start filling water glasses. I grab the large jug of ice-cold water, and Cannon whispers “good luck” to me and goes into the crowd.
“People of Wonder, it gives me great pleasure to welcome you all to the seventy-first Wonder Charity Pie Eating Contest.”
As I fill up the jugs and then run back to collect the pies, she talks about the charity we’re raising money for at the event. I run back to the stage, suddenly wishing there wasn’t quite such a distance between my cart and the stage. I start with two family-sized pies on each table. I have plenty more for when they get through them. As I arrange the pies, Fay introduces the contestants, who file up onto the stage and take their seats.
“First up, we have four-time champ, veteran entrant Percy Jacobs. Next is a newcomer, the sheriff’s lovely wife, Melody. Do we think she can beat Percy?”
The crowd cheers, no one louder than Knox as he beams with pride at his wife.
“Our third contestant is none other than Miss Wonder herself, Jolene Crawford.”
I can’t help but think a pie-eating contest is a bit of a step down from a beauty pageant, but hey, the poor girl is probably still starving from all the preparation for it.
“And finally,” Fay goes on, “reigning champion Denver Harris.” Everyone gets quiet, and the crowd gives her a knowing eye. She nods her head. “And we have former champion, Mrs. Hillary! Let’s give her some love, guys!” The crowd howls and cheers.
Denver’s cheer is big, but not as big as Mel’s. It doesn’t seem to faze him as he eyes the pies before him hungrily.
Mrs. Hillary isn’t competing for real; they just give her one pie, which she eats slowly. It not only feeds her but makes her feel important, and the mayor even bought her her own special ribbon.
